The Hands of a Carpenter
by Dearheart
Summary: The story of how two friends built the Wardrobe and played an important part in the Master's Plan. Up next: Of Lions and Carpenters - In which Digory has an ominous dream...and is reminded that in order to hear properly, one must first stop to listen.
1. Of Woodwork and Surprises

**A/N:** I'm really excited about this one, so please review and let me know what you think of it! Any and all advice/constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

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**_Dedicated to the Great Carpenter..._**  
_**and to everyone who has yet to learn the Lion's name in our world.**_

--

_"...when Digory was quite middle-aged (and he was a famous learned man, a Professor, and a great traveler by that time) and the Ketterly's old house belonged to him, there was a great storm all over the south of England which blew the tree down. He couldn't bear to have it simply chopped up for firewood, so he had part of the timber made into a wardrobe, which he put in his big house in the country. And though he himself did not discover the magic properties of that wardrobe, **someone else did**..."_ (--The Magician's Nephew)

--

**Chapter 1  
Of Woodwork and Surprises**

Shafts of golden sunlight streamed through the window and spilled over his workplace, showing up the flecks of sawdust drifting through the air. Two roughened hands of experience took the tools needed in a firm grip and glided smoothly over the wood as two keen eyes looked on intently. Lips pursed and eyebrows knit together in concentration. Shoulders bent over the work-bench, warning intruders that the craftsman was not to be disturbed. Shavings of gold lightly fell to the floor around his shoes as the wood was shaped under his touch. His mind was immersed in the world of his favorite pastime; in the fragrance of newly-cut timber, the taste of sawdust on his tongue, the feel of woodwork beneath his calloused fingertips, and the delight of using his hands to create something beautiful.

The sound of a timid knock on the door jarred his concentration, bringing his work to an abrupt halt. He growled and muttered something incoherent under his breath, but he cleared his throat and called out,

"Come in!"

The door of his workshop creaked open and a pleasant, rosy-cheeked face peeped out from behind it.

"'Scuse my intrusion, Professor sir; I knew you weren't wantin' to be disturbed but..."

"Ah, my dear Margaret," said the Professor in a warmer tone. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing sir, lor' bless you," said the maid, bobbing a curtsy and grinning. "It's just that dinner's ready an' all, and Mrs. Macready's expecting you to come inside now."

"Oh, bother dinner," he mumbled, running his fingers through his graying light brown hair. "Doesn't she know I'm busy?"

"I tried to tell her, sir," said Margaret apologetically, "but you know how she is."

"Yes, yes," he sighed. "Always the punctual one, she is." He stooped down a moment to pick up a carving knife that had somehow found its way to the floor and stood up again, setting it in its proper place. He wiped his hands on his thick apron and asked, "If it's not too much trouble, could you bring my dinner here to me? I need to stay here and finish up while there's still enough sunlight."

"No trouble at all, sir. I'll run and fetch your dinner straight away."

"Thank you, Margaret. Oh yes; please give Mrs. Macready my sincerest apologies for not coming to the table this evening. I hate to make her stressed (the poor dear), but I'm afraid I simply can't stop right now. And at least Ivy and Betty will have one less place to clear."

"Of course, Professor." She bobbed another curtsy and carefully shut the door behind her, leaving her master to his hobby once again.

Ten minutes passed, and again there came a knock on the door and the creaking sound of the hinges.

"Just set it on table, Margaret, there's a dear," he said absently, keeping his eyes on his work and making a vague hand-motion in no particular direction. A familiar chuckle met his ears.

"Well, Mr. Kirke, I _would_ if my name was Margaret and if I had any dinner to bring you."

He looked up, startled, and his face lit up in unexpected joy at what he saw.

"Polly! What are you doing here?"

A smirk played on her lips, and her gray eyes had a playful twinkle in them.

"What's the matter, Digory? Aren't you glad to see me?"

"Glad to see you?" he laughed. "That is quite an understatement!" He came away from his project and the two of them met in the warm embrace of old friends who have not seen each other in years.

"But, what are you doing here?" he asked, after they pulled away again. "You never let us know you were coming in the first place!"

"You mean, _you_ didn't know I was coming," said Polly, wearing a proud grin on her face. "Everyone else knew about it, but I wanted to surprise you in particular, considering what the occasion is."

"Surprise me? Occasion?" He gave her a blank stare.

"Why you goose," she teased, placing her hands on her hips. "Don't tell me you've forgotten your own birthday! Your _40th_ one at that."

"Birthday?" he repeated, pretending to be confused. "What birthday?"

They both broke into smiles and laughed heartily at themselves.

"Well, one thing's for sure," remarked Polly. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Neither have you," retorted Digory. He stepped aside as Polly had a look around his workshop. She smiled at the carved figures of the tiny, wooden animals that perched on the table and lovingly brushed her fingers over them as she passed.

"I see you've still kept a few of those animals your father helped us make when we were smaller." She caught sight of the timber on his workbench and bent over it for a better look.

"What are you working on, Digory? Are you building something this time?" She inhaled deeply, drinking in the delightful scent of it. She then looked at it hard, as if trying to figure something out. That smell seemed strangely familiar to her, like the echoes of a song once heard before, long ago and far away; or like the shadow or copy of an image you vaguely remember seeing elsewhere. Her face suddenly changed, and she eyed it in what seemed to be awe. "Digory," she breathed, "is that..._the_ tree? You told me it blew down, but..."

"Yes, that's the one." His eyes grew solemn as he joined her at the workbench. "I didn't want to have it simply chopped up for firewood, so I took it here and decided to make it into something. I'm building a wardrobe."

"What a splendid idea!" said Polly. "What will it look like when you're done?"

"I'm not sure. I'm just hoping I'll finish it in time without messing things up; it's been a while since I last attempted making a piece of furniture, and I've only got three months before my next trip to China. It'll probably end up being plain, perhaps with a looking-glass in the door or something."

"Oh no, Digory. That won't do at all." She wrinkled her nose in disapproval. "Wood like this deserves something special, not boring. It's not very often you get to make something out of a tree that may have had magic in it."

"True," admitted Digory, scratching his beard. "But I couldn't think of anything else. I can make animals and things, but I'm not the best at drawing up pictures or designs to carve. And keep in mind that I'm mainly a traveler and explorer; not a master carpenter. Wood-working is simply a pastime I enjoy."

Just then, Margaret came through the open doorway, carrying a huge tray full of hot, steaming dinner for both of them. She greeted them cheerfully as she set it on the table and soon returned again with a beautiful chocolate cake, all ablaze with candles.

"It's a mercy I didn't set the thing on fire," she joked with a crooked smile on her face, eyes twinkling. Digory flashed her a quick grin, almost as he might have done as a small boy, then leaned forward and blew out all forty candles.

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**Up Next:** Of Birthday Presents and Secret Memories


	2. Of Birthday Presents and Secret Memories

**Chapter 2  
Of Birthday Presents and Secret Memories**

Dinner was eaten, cake was devoured (with much enthusiasm), and as the conversation slowed down they leaned back in their chairs and sighed in contentment.

"Digory, please give my compliments to the chef whenever you get the chance," said Polly, patting her full stomach. "That was a dinner to remember."

"I'm glad to see the food meets your approval," chuckled Digory. "And you'll be seeing a lot more meals like this, since you're visiting for a while." He reached into his pocket for his pipe and a few moments later he was contentedly puffing away at it. "Observe, my good Polly." He pulled it out of his mouth, blew a perfect smoke ring and sat back with a smug smile hiding behind his beard. Polly just rolled her eyes.

"You always _were_ a bit of a show-off."

"I, Professor Kirke? A show-off?" said Digory, feigning a shocked expression. "Miss Plummer, I..."

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "That reminds me..."

"What?"

"I'd almost forgotten your birthday present."

She reached for her coat and pulled out something from its pocket. It was a sort of round-shaped little package and not wrapped very neatly, but when she handed it to him he didn't seem to notice. (Men generally don't care about how neat the present looks as long as it has something good inside.) He beamed at her as a dancing, mischievous twinkle came into his bright blue eyes, and for a moment you could clearly see that there was still an eager twelve-year-old boy inside him. He made a single tear in the bright red paper, revealing...a flash of silver? He tore the rest of it off, anxious to see what it really was. He gasped in wonder and his pipe was completely forgotten, for the object was something very special indeed.

It was an apple made of silver, polished so bright that it shone like a great star resting in his hands. As he gently fingered the top, it slowly opened to reveal a hollow inside for storing his tobacco in. He examined it more closely and saw the noble figure of a winged horse engraved on its side.

_"Your name is Fledge!"_

_"Hold onto me tight, Polly..."_

Old memories of joys and hopes and fears that had once been safely tucked away came rushing back to him...

_"Come in by the gold gates or not at all..."_

_"You have plucked the fruit of the garden yonder. You have it in your pocket now... It is the apple of youth, the apple of life... What about this mother of yours whom you pretend to love so? ...one bite of that apple would heal her..."_

_"But I--I promised."_

It was only a tobacco-jar; but to him, it meant so much more.

_"...you didn't know what you were promising...no one need ever know..."_

_"Why are you so precious fond of my mother all of a sudden?"_

_"Good for you, Diggs. Quick! Get away now!"_

_"Think of me, Boy, when you lie old and weak and dying, and remember how you threw away the chance of endless youth..."_

_"I've brought you the apple you wanted, Sir..._"

"Happy Birthday, Digory," said Polly softly, a slow smile gracing her features. A long moment passed before he managed to tear his eyes away from it and find his voice.

"Thank you, Polly," he said as his eyes met hers, his gaze misty and his voice thick with the sudden rush of emotions and memories that came with the gift. Precious, secret memories that no one else knew about. "It's...I...I don't know what to say..."

"You don't have to say anything," said Polly, dropping her gaze self-consciously and tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. "I simply saw it and I knew you had to have it and...I'm just glad I found the right present for you."

"It's not just 'right', Polly," he said, gently brushing his thumb across the silver, cherishing the feel of its cool, smooth surface against his skin. "It--it's perfect."

She smiled up at him again. Suddenly he stood up, leaving his gift on the table, and made his way to a locked cupboard in the back of his workshop.

"Digory?" She watched him fumble with the lock and grope around for something, and then he came back to the table and sat down, cupping something hidden in his hands.

"Polly," he said, "I want you to have something. Actually, I've wanted to give it to you for a long time now; but I wanted to wait until the right moment."

She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"Close your eyes."

She did so, and Digory placed a small, slender object in her hands. She opened her eyes, and her breath caught in her throat.

"Digory, that's...it can't be..."

In her hands lay a tiny, three-inch miniature of a lamppost. The wood was rough and crudely shaped, and the color of it had lost the richness it used to have. But like the silver apple, it too was a special object...

--

_ "Do you think that bit of toffee we planted really will grow into a tree?"_

_"I think so. It worked with the lamppost, so I don't see why it shouldn't work with toffee." _

_Fledge, the flying Horse, was lying between them and they were sitting beneath his wings, one on each side of him, talking quietly about what had happened that day and watching the bright, young stars of Narnia come out from the veil of darkening sky. Polly turned around and put her elbows on Fledge's back so she could look over Digory's shoulder._

_"Oy! Careful, young un'," snorted Fledge. "Your elbows digging into my back aren't the most comfortable."_

_"Sorry." She smiled apologetically and shifted her position. "Is that better, Fledge?"_

_"Yes, thank you kindly."_

_"Good." She rested her chin on her arms and breathed in the sweetness of the cool night air. She glanced down at Digory and caught sight of something in his hand that he seemed to be working on with his pocket knife._

_"What's that, Digory?"_

_"Oh...nothing much. I just found a twig under that tree over there and thought I'd do something with it."_

_"Can I see it?"_

_"It's not very good..."_

_"Please?"_

_"Oh alright." He reluctantly handed it back to her. She smiled as she examined it, holding it in her slender fingers._

_"Oh, it's the lamppost! How clever of you! I didn't know you could carve things, Digory." She gave it back to him._

_"Well...I sort of can, but I'm still not very good at it. It's just a hobby, nothing much. Father showed me how, just before he left for India. I try and practice now and then, but if I want to get any better I'd need him to teach me more."_

_"When is your father coming back?"_

_"I don't know." His voice was flat, and after a few seconds he gave a harsh laugh. "Sometimes it feels like I haven't got any parents at all." A short, awkward silence followed, and was finally broken by the sound of Polly's quiet voice and halting words._

_"I'm...I'm sorry, Digory." Her heart ached for him, and she deeply wished that there was something, _anything_ she could do. _

_"It's alright. I just..." he trailed off and sighed, and his young voice was unsteady, burdened with a grief and disappointment that no child should have to bear. "I was hoping so desperately to get something for Mother, and instead we got sent on this...mission."_

_"Don't worry," said Polly, trying to comfort and encourage him. "I'm sure Aslan will do something once we take that fruit back to Him."_

_"I hope so, Polly," he whispered, staring out into the quiet darkness that enveloped them. "I hope so..."_

--

"Digory, I...you...you can't..." Polly trailed off and swallowed hard, overwhelmed that Digory would even consider entrusting this treasure to her. She shook her head in a vain attempt to keep her emotions in check. "You can't give this to me; it's yours! I can't accept..." But when she looked back up at him and saw the look in his face, she found she couldn't finish her sentence. The eager spark in his eyes was gone, replaced with immense disappointment. He sighed.

"I thought you'd love it."

"Oh Digory, it's not that..."

"What's wrong?" he demanded, quiet desperation in his voice. Everything in his expression seemed to plead with her. "Don't you want it?"

"It's not that I don't want it!" she repeated, glancing away for a moment. She pursed her lips together and blinked back the blurring heat rushing to her eyes. "It's just that..."

"That what?"

"I don't deserve it," she whispered.

Digory stood taken aback by her words...and relief spread over his face as he shook his head in emphatic disagreement.

"Polly, that is a very untrue statement! I can't think of anyone else in the world who deserves it more than you...or of anyone else who could love it and appreciate it the way you could."

"But why? I mean...are you sure you want to give this up? You really want me to have it?" She held it out to him in an open hand, as if giving him a last chance to take it back. But he simply smiled at her, reached out and closed her fingers over it.

"Consider it an un-birthday present."

He gently pushed the closed hand back to her.

"Keep it. Treasure it."

And of course, she did.

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**A/N:** In the LWW movie, during the scene where the Professor is talking to Peter and Susan...if you look carefully...you'll notice that when he puts the tobacco in his pipe, he gets it from a small sort of jar that looks like a silver apple. If you look even closer, you'll notice it has a winged horse engraved on it. When I saw it, I started wondering where he might have got it from...and this is what I came up with. However, the miniature lamppost is neither in the books or the movie...I just thought it would be cool to put in. :-)

Oh yes...many many hugtackles to Kristi the Fisherdess, one of the nicest people on the face of the planet!! (She runs The Lion's Call website.) Not only was she kind enough to pay _me_ a surprise, 17th b-day visit...she went completely over the top and made me a silver apple as a present! And she hadn't even read this fanfic when she gave it to me! Amazing! That silver apple she made for me is truly one of the most beautiful, intricate things I've ever been given, and I'll treasure it always. It's sitting atop my dresser right now (along with the rest of my Narnia collection), in a special place where everyone will see it. Thank you Kristi! You're the best!!

**Up next: **Of Lions and Carpenters


	3. Of Lions and Carpenters

**A/N:** FINALLY! I UPDATED!! (rejoices) Hope you enjoy this next installment! Constructive criticism is very much appreciated! (BTW...see if you can guess who the carpenter is.)

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**Chapter 3**

**Of Lions and Carpenters**

_Shafts of golden sunlight streamed through the window and spilled over his workplace, showing up the flecks of sawdust drifting through the air. Two roughened hands of experience took the tools needed in a firm grip and glided smoothly over the wood as two dark eyes looked on intently. Lips pursed and eyebrows knit together in concentration. Shoulders bent over the work-bench, warning intruders that the craftsman was not to be disturbed. Shavings of gold lightly fell to the floor around his bare feet as the wood was shaped under his touch; and his lips curved upward, ever so slightly, in a smile that showed he found delight in his craft._

_He was tall, broad, muscular…his eyes were soft and deep, full of grace, sorrow, joy, command…and wisdom, far beyond his 18-year-old appearance. With his dark skin-tone and hair, he looked as though he might come from somewhere in Arabia._

_After a while, he put aside his tools and reached for his hammer. __Taking a sharp, gleaming nail in one hand, he meticulously positioned it in just the right place;__ and in a few light, smart taps, the nail was soon embedded in the wood. He reached for another one and again brought his hammer down upon it…_

_Chnk._

_Chnk._

_Chnk._

_Suddenly he stopped, faltered, and put the tools down for a moment. His gaze was drawn from the work…to the hands that were working. He stared at them in silence, and ran his calloused fingertips over his wrists; and his eyes grew distant and sad…as if thinking of some old, terrible wound in body and heart, or a grim memory he had no wish of remembering._

_He shook himself and continued with his work. Another slow, wonderful smile danced across his lips as though he was now secretly holding a great, victorious joy inside him, or anticipating something wonderful that no one else knew was coming…_

_The vision faded, and all went dark…_

_Far off in the distance, a warm, steady glow could be seen…_

_It grew and spread, becoming more bright and intense every second __- and in the center of it, the vague shape of a face could be seen, but any attempt to discern its features was like trying to look into the midday sun and see exactly how round it is._

_And then, a Voice could be heard…a Voice as warm and strong and intense as brightness itself, speaking words that seemed to be important, but were hard to understand - like someone whispering too softly to hear well, or calling to you from a very far distance…_

"…_son of Adam…build…a week…make haste…she…come soon…Narnia… lost…"_

_Though the brightness never dimmed, the face became a little clearer…and now it seemed to be in the midst of a sea of tossing gold…_

_It was a Lion, and his rich, glorious mane was flowing all around him…_

"…_son of Adam…build…a week…make haste…she…come soon…Narnia… lost…"_

_Suddenly there came an angry, roaring noise, like a mixture of fire, thunder and howling wind…the Lion's face disappeared…the tossing mane transformed into red-orange tongues of scorching destruction…consuming everything…spreading…burning… help…Aslan…help! HELP!_

Digory's eyes flew open and he sat up breathlessly, the last tendrils of his dream still clutching at him. He took a deep breath and passed his hand over his eyes, wiping away the sweat and clearing the fog from his mind. The first few rays of sunshine were peeking through the window and birds were waking up to greet them in song. A new day had begun.

He listened for a few moments to the reassuring tick of the clock until the pounding of his heart slowed; then he shook his head, gave a quiet, dazed chuckle and got on with his usual routine. He tried to stop brooding over it; and after an awkwardly quiet breakfast with Polly he buried himself in his work, as he always did when trying to forget his worries. But the dream had disturbed him greatly, and all morning he couldn't stop thinking about it and replaying it over and over in his mind.

For hours he lingered in his study, hoping to distract himself. He pored over different maps of China with his magnifying glass and looked things up in various encyclopedias, now and then scribbling notes on pieces of scratch paper and muttering to himself.

He jumped as there came a knock at the door.

"Digory! Lunchtime!"

The clock chimed one. The time had gone by much faster than he'd thought...

"Digory, come on!" The muffled voice behind the door was tinged with impatience. "I'm not planning on holding this lunch tray forever, you know."

"Sorry!" he called back, scrambling to his feet and putting his books aside. He strode over and hastily pulled the door open, allowing Polly to enter. Carrying his tray in, she took a moment to survey the room and clucked her tongue as her eyes took in the clutter.

"Books piled up everywhere...papers all over the floor just waiting to be crumpled and stepped on...really Digory, I'd have thought a person like you would be a little more organized than this."

"Now then, I usually am!" he protested feebly. "I was just...er, busier than normal today, that's all."

"Obviously." She shook her head and chuckled. "At any rate, it's easy to tell you're still a bachelor...and I do hope you're not expecting me to put your lunch _there_," she added, raising her eyebrows at the sight of his desk...or what she was able to see of it.

"Sorry, erm..." Digory coughed and began shoving things out of the way, attempting to clear up some space. He pushed a huge, heavy dictionary to one side, knocking over a stack of essays and a paperweight in the process. A sheepish smile crossed his face as papers fluttered everywhere.

"Oh you _are_ hopeless," Polly sighed, placing the tray on the floor, and they both dropped to their knees to clean up the mess. She scooped up a few manuscripts and straightened them out, putting them in a neat stack next to her. She then reached for the paperweight that now lay on the ground, but Digory took it first. It was the bronze figure of a lion, standing erect and proud with its great shaggy head held high. He hesitated before putting it back and gave it a swift, strange look, as though he expected it to come to life and talk to him...

He shook himself and continued to pick up the mess, but his hand was halted by Polly's.

"Digory, what's going on?"

Her eyes were intense, and it took some effort for Digory to hold them.

"I am perfectly well, Polly. Really." He tried to smile convincingly, but it didn't work.

"Honestly, you are terrible at fibbing," said Polly. "Do you really expect me to believe you're 'perfectly well' after what I had to put up with this morning at breakfast?"

"I assure you, nothing is wrong. I simply didn't sleep well, that's all. It's nothing to worry about..."

Polly gave him a stern look. "Digory, how long have we been friends?"

"Erm...for a while?" he said lamely.

"For twenty-eight years," she corrected.

"Oh yes, thank you for reminding me how _old_ I am," said Digory, sarcastically.

"Oh come off it! Forty years is nothing to be ashamed about."

"That is an easy statement for _you_ to say, Miss Thirty-Nine..."

"Do not change the subject!" said Polly in exasperation. "The point is, I've known you for a long time. And for someone so intelligent, you must be pretty stupid to think you can hide something from me. I know there's something wrong, and it's not merely a lack of sleep."

Digory said nothing, but he no longer tried to mask the uneasiness he felt. Polly clearly saw it now, and she squeezed his hand.

"Please, Digory. Tell me what's wrong," she pleaded. "You can talk to me about anything. You ought to know that."

He sighed resignedly, reaching for the lion paperweight again. The weight of the bronze felt somewhat reassuring in his hand and he held it close in a firm grasp, half-hoping it would do something to take away the uncertainty. He swallowed.

"I had a dream."

Polly stood to her feet, motioning towards the couch by the fireplace. Digory followed her, and they both sat down.

"So, you had a dream," she prompted. "What was it about?"

He took a deep breath.

"Narnia. I think."

Polly subconsciously moved closer.

"The problem is," he continued, "I'm not certain as to whether it was simply an ordinary dream, or if it was possibly a vision. It wasn't like any dream I've ever experienced. It was almost like...like a nightmare. Only stranger. And it felt...urgent. Important." A light came in his eyes, and the last part almost came out as a half-whisper to himself. "I saw _Him_."

Polly's eyes also lit up, and she held her breath in anticipation. There was no need for her to ask who "He" was, for she already knew it was Aslan - the great Lion in Narnia's world, and the great Savior in theirs. Eagerly she listened as Digory related his dream to her; and when he had finished she leaned back and gazed at nothing, deep in thought. Unwittingly, Digory had done the same.

"You're right, Digory," said Polly after a few minutes, breaking the silence. "That was no ordinary dream. I'm almost sure it was a vision...and He was definitely trying to tell you something."

"So am I," said Digory, breathing a small sigh of relief. "I wasn't certain at first, but now that I've heard your opinion my mind feels clearer…though not much less troubled. Something's happening…or going to happen. I don't know what it is, or where - but I fear it isn't good."

Polly nodded. "I feel the same. And it's not at all a good feeling," she added, shivering. "Whatever it is, do you think it will happen in Narnia…or here in our own world?"

"Maybe both," Digory murmured.

"In your dream…you said it felt urgent and important. Was He trying to warn you of something, do you think?"

"Nothing is more probable," said Digory, leaning back in his seat and pressing the tips of his fingers together. "I'm sure it was both a warning and a command of some sort."

"Like last time?" hinted Polly with a wistful smile.

Digory chuckled. "Only this time there wasn't anything about burying poor Uncle Andrew's magic rings. Ah, good times…" For a moment his eyes grew soft and distant, and he smiled back at her in the same wistful way…and then he was back, furrowing his eyebrows and thinking hard. "If only I could've heard His voice more clearly. It was so hard to hear what He was saying…I could only pick up a word here and there."

"Maybe you weren't listening," suggested Polly.

Digory blinked as a brand new thought struck him - then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and gave her a very keen look.

"Funny you should mention that…about not listening. Come to think of it, I haven't done much listening _or_ talking with Him at all, lately. I haven't prayed a real prayer or studied any scripture in goodness knows how long; I've been so busy and caught up with my plans for China and whatnot." He frowned. "Perhaps that is the problem. Perhaps that's why I wasn't able to hear. I wasn't taking time to listen to Him."

"Well then," said Polly with a firm smile, "it's high time you set things right and started listening again."

He nodded. "I couldn't agree more, Polly."

"I wonder who that man was," she murmured, after a moment's silence.

"Who?"

"The man you saw in your dream before Aslan appeared. A carpenter, didn't you say he was?"

"That's right."

"Who was he, I wonder?"

"Yes..." Digory leaned back again and let his eyes wander around the room. "I wonder."

His gaze fell on an old wooden cross he'd found in Ireland, ancient and intricately carved, collecting dust as it hung on the wall over his desk. A strange, tingling thrill ran through him as he realized what he had not dared to hope; and from the depths of his soul, a joyful voice inside him cried out,

_It's You!_

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, I've practically spelled it out for you by now. If you STILL don't know who the carpenter is, do yourself a favor and dust off your Bible. ;-)

**Up Next:** Of Revelations and Bright Ideas


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